


Rewriting History

by dragon_lady



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re (Manga), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Celestino is an awesome father-like figure, GPF Sochi, Hide is Yuuri's fan, Hide is alive, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Phichit is mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 06:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12426768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_lady/pseuds/dragon_lady
Summary: The day Yuuri finally skated on the same ice as Viktor Nikiforov was the day his life took a huge turn to the irreversible point.





	Rewriting History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KnightYuuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightYuuki/gifts).



> Warning:  
> \- Major spoilers for Tokyo Ghoul (manga) and Tokyo Ghoul:re (manga)

Yuuri was never one to stand out from others; he preferred to be absorbed in the background, unseen, forgotten. He was of Kyushu, Japan. A family-run business hot spring inn in a humble coastal town, Hasetsu, was his home. However, it hadn't been a home for him in the last five years as he'd been living in Detroit to pursue his career in figure skating.

As much as he'd loved figure skating, it had never been in his plans to train abroad, leaving his family behind. But one afternoon after being handed a business card of a well-known skating coach at Junior World Figure Skating Championship, he'd changed his mind; for it had been his chance to save his family from himself. 

One thing people never knew about Yuuri Katsuki; he was a half-ghoul. Unlike that one accident in Tokyo involving a male college student turned into a half-ghoul with dubious consent―it’d turned badly for the CCG that Yuuri was grateful his family didn't live in Tokyo, Yuuri's case was quite peculiar.

Yuuri had been born this way.

No, no. Toshiya and Hiroko Katsuki were both humans. The most humane as human could get, except for Toshiya's dietetic. Toshiya only ate meat―any meat, so long as it was cooked rare; pork, beef, mutton, even one time in one of those Mari's teenage outbursts; running away to the mountain, Toshiya had managed to get a rabbit. Katsuki family had a very long family line with ample background and history that sometimes Toshiya even joked about his great-great-great-great-grandmother being a ghoul. 

"Perhaps that's the reason for my dietary requirement!" he'd slurred in one drunken night, celebrating Sagan Tosu's win when Yuuri had been a skinny 2 year old.

Toddler Yuuri had been a picky eater; his parents had been baffled by the tod's lack of appetite. Mr and Mrs Katsuki had regularly consulted to his paediatrician for advice; never once had they predicted that the sashimi, which an 8-year-old Mari secretly had slipped into Yuuri’s mouth to stop his crying, would have been the first hint of Yuuri's condition.

Who would have thought that little Yuuri had developed a liking in raw meat? Regardless, Yuuri never once ate humans flesh. He got that one distinctive feature that kept himself different from an ordinary ghoul at least, even the other half-ghouls were basically the same as natural born ghouls in that regard. All the same, the distinctive feature held no meaning for the CCG. Yuuri was an anomaly in nature.

His appetite got bigger, the older he got. It caused him to get anxious perpetually about the chance of him snapping out and going at his family; he couldn't live on if that ever happened. All those doubts and negativity slowly gnawed his mental health. He'd constantly worried about his family being charged for harboring a ghoul, as it was counted as a crime by the CCG as well. He'd started hating his body. 

“You are not a ghoul, certainly not a monster―you are _my son_ ,” firm tone laced Hiroko's gentle voice at one of Yuuri's breakdowns. 

Yuuri looked up from his curling position in a corner of his bedroom, “and your son isn't human, either.”

Now those were the words any mother would firmly tell their petulant children never to say it in such manner ever again—Hiroko was not any mother. The lugubriosity shown on her soft feature was as clear as the gathering of cumulonimbus in a broad daylight; it got Yuuri avert his gaze. Yuuri’s words surely had been the cause. “I'm sorry, Mom,” he murmured regrettably.

Yuuri had never tried to socialize either, as he'd been always bad at it; what would be the point to try? What if someone noticed his dietetic? What if his left eye turned black again? Yuuri had never once produced kagune and didn't know if he actually could, but what if somehow it managed to come out suddenly? Being unseen, left out, hanging around the background had given him a semblance of safety. 

Minako had been the one who'd dragged him out of his shell, taking him into her ballet studio to be trained in Ballet as well as other types of dance. Minako was one of the very few people that knew about his condition. All those dancing sessions had been his salvation. He'd often spent hours of the day in Minako Okukawa's ballet studio, until he'd been introduced to figure skating by the same woman.

“I bet you'll like it, Yuuri.” Her smile had been always wide and sincere; Yuuri couldn't bring himself to refuse any of her request. "All the other kids will be busy to stay on their feet anyway, they won't pay attention to you"―and she always knew how to earn that "yes" from Yuuri in her own way. 

It had ended up with Yuuri being too busy to pay attention to his surrounding other than his own two feet and Minako's extended hands. The most important thing that'd happened that day―that Minako swore she would never forget―was Yuuri had laughed aloud and freely for the first time. He'd been so happy to be on the ice that he'd agreed right away to her offer for enrolling to the skating academy at the local ice rink.

Thus, Yuuri Katsuki had fallen for figure skating world and got the chance to know an excellent embodiment of perfection who dwelled in it—Viktor Nikiforov.

Viktor Nikiforov was captivating, extremely talented, and breathtakingly beautiful—a perfect example of the personification of a work of art itself. Yuuri Katsuki looked up to him―if worship were to be an unacceptable word to describe the state of Yuuri's adoration toward the Russian. Adoring the living legend of Russia had sparked something new; the spirit of competitiveness breathed fire inside the Japanese man, setting his soul ablaze. For once in his life, Yuuri finally dared to set goals for himself, dared to dream. Skating on the same ice as Viktor Nikiforov had been one of Yuuri Katsuki's biggest dreams.

Moving his home rink had been the first step toward that dream evidently. The harrowing training regimens set by Celestino, piles of online courseworks from his Uni between training sessions, and the sleepless nights of homesick had been Yuuri’s life for the past five years; it had all been paid off. Yuuri made it to his first ISU GrandPrix Final in Sochi.

Viktor glided in circles leisurely on the ice at the public practice session on the day before GPF. Yuuri stood in a gaped at the Russian, his back leaning against the barrier of the rink. Never once in his life had Yuuri been this close in vicinity with Viktor Nikiforov, let alone skating—no, standing. Yuuri was standing on the same ice as Viktor; which made Celestino purposely cleared his throat right next to Yuuri’s ear.

“You’re here to skate, Yuuri.” Yuuri yelped, proceeded stuttering his apologies before resuming to practice his skating jump composition.

If only Yuuri had glanced over at his idol again, Yuuri would have caught Viktor’s indiscreet gaze directed at him with a slight smirk adorning his fair complexion.

Little did Yuuri know that at the same time, at that moment, horror was looming over Yu-topia Akatsuki―his home.

In the five years Yuuri had been in Detroit, a massive shift had been in motion at the CCG of Japan. Battles between ghouls and humans had broken out few times in Tokyo during that time and the recent change of leadership brought the bureau coming off as an apparatus of mass destruction. The cold winter wind blew the stench of blood and the poisonous policy in every hidden corner of Japan through all four directions, set the rest of the world into a state of alert.

The call was quick and clear that night before the day of his FS performance. Yuuri was still staring at his phone’s screen, petrified on the bed in his hotel room. His lungs started screaming for oxygen; Yuuri didn’t even realize he had been holding his breath during the call.

As if a dam were crumbled down, the stream of tears rushed through in full blast, seconds after the recognition of the current situation dawned upon him.

_Useless. Meaningless. Pointless existence._

He knew it. It had been all too good for him.

Yuuri had to act quickly. He couldn’t stay here any longer. It was either ISU retracted him from the competition and handed him over to the Japanese Embassy in Moscow or he withdrew from the competition and then… and… Yuuri honestly had no idea what he would do next. There was no point for him to survive anymore. No home, no family to return.

The soft knocks on the door stopped his train of thoughts. Yuuri turned white. _Ah_ , who was he kidding? Creature like him was not worth an official withdraw statement. His hands raked through his hair as he tried to steady his breathing. “Okay, okay,” he said to himself. Chest kept heaving, pumping air to his lungs in pointless attempts to calm his nerves.

Funny how his heart was fighting even more in the last moment of his life.

Yuuri stared at the doorknob for a few seconds. _Knock, knock, knock._ Drawing in air deeply, Yuuri opened the door.

“Yuuri! That took you long enough—what are you doing?” The thundering voice of Celestino, the frown on his face reverberated confusion and worry. Yuuri's legs felt like jelly, everything faded out his vision; the floor seemed like a good place. “ _Yuuri!_ ”

Yuuri was in his bed when he opened his eyes. Celestino sat at the foot of the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his phone was in his other hand; he looked tired.

Yuuri cleared his throat; inadvertently startled his coach. “I-uh… I’m sorry, Celestino.” He propped himself up against the headboard.

“What are you apologizing for?” Celestino only shook his head and continued talking when Yuuri scrambled for words, “No matter. Yuuri, you have nothing to apologize for,” he paused, studying Yuuri a moment as though he was torn for the next words. “Minako called,” he simply said. And then silence engulfed the room.

Yuuri’s former ballet instructor had also called his coach. So Celestino knew? Yuuri hung his head. “I will withdraw fro—”

“ _Like hell you will_.”

Yuuri’s head snapped up. “What? But I’m-” he gulped, “Celestino, I don’t think you understand. You’re only going to put yourself in trouble if you let me continue. I’m not worth all—”

“You’re not worth all the risk?” Yuuri nodded in silent. “Yuuri, tell me, how long do you think I’ve known about your diet?”—Yuuri winced—“You think it’s only been three hours? Two? Just now? Yuuri, your parents with your former ballet instructor’s help had told me the moment you had agreed to train under my tutelage.” Celestino gently rubbed his own temple, seemingly older by few years under the dim light of the room. “I’m really sorry for your loss, Yuuri,” he added genuinely.

Yuuri was in that state where everything meant nothing to him. Not a single thing in Celestino’s words had come across the younger man. He just wanted to go back to Japan.

“Yuuri,” Celestino sighed in defeat, “alright, you may go back to Japan, but tell me, what are you gonna do after?”

Yuuri curled in himself. He was tired of running, this restless feeling; he wanted all to end. And _just_ when Yuuri had thought his sacrifices had not for naught as he’d finally got to meet his idol. He had never been more wrong. What else in life did he do wrong? He couldn’t help but wonder if that college student who had made his way to be the King of all ghouls in Tokyo had got this feeling when he’d realized the date he’d gone on had been the last moment of him being a human wholly.

Celestino got up after sighing heavily again. “Alright, Yuuri. I’m gonna make sure you reach Fukuoka safely. I’ll take care of your flight.”

Yuuri silently nodded and tucked back inside the cover again, cocooning himself.

“Just so you know, every decision you make at this point will draw more attention to you; it could be a good thing and bad at the same time. Many people have taken actions to reach a common ground for both humans and ghouls all over the world without making both sides look more barbaric than they already do,” Celestino waited for any response Yuuri might make to no avail after a few beats; the top of Yuuri’s head seemed unmoving inside the cocoon of blankets. Celestino continued, “what Japanese CCG has done to your family was inhumane in the worst way imaginable, pure out of hatred and full of hidden agenda… And oh—Yuuri, did you know that Viktor Nikiforov is one of those who fight for common grounds here in Russia? Thought you might be interested.”

With that, Celestino left the room.

Yuuri stared into darkness inside his cocoon.

 

*****

 

The thunderous sound of cheer and applause was surely deafening, if one had heard it in the first place. Yuuri hardly heard anything.

The program he’d performed, the score voiced out of the speaker, the medal ceremony were all naught but a blur. The only solid evidence Yuuri wasn't a floating existence was the heavy presence of bronze piece on his chest; the ribbon grated his nape, keeping him firm on the podium.

A pair of aquamarine orbs never left his form. The strong grasp of calloused hand on Yuuri’s shoulder did so much as took him closer for yet another evidence of his corporeal form; a commemoratory of everything that had happened was tangible.

Celestino had grumbled in his sleepy state and then made his phone seem like the extension of his ear since Yuuri had knocked on his door at the break of dawn. The older man had told Yuuri to do nothing but his best for his Free Skate today. “Think nothing, say nothing, do nothing—I’m glad enough to have you listen to me this once, I’ll be grateful if you do it one more time.” The nod had helped smooth his stiff shoulders. “And show the world your hard work, Yuuri.”

Yuuri had done exactly that with Celestino had been the constant presence next to him the whole day.

Slipping out of the gold medallist’s grasp without paying so much as a second glance to the bleak look on the pair of aquamarine eyes that followed his every move, Yuuri skated forward to Celestino who was waiting for him by the rink’s opening. Celestino arched his eyebrows at his student’s demeanour.

“That’s Viktor Nikiforov you just brushed off,” Celestino nodded at somewhere behind Yuuri.

Yuuri only gave Celestino a slight nod absentmindedly. He was aware, yet for him, nothing mattered anymore except to fly to Japan by the end of tonight.

Because, really, Viktor Nikiforov might be pro-coexistence in his country, but Yuuri was still no more than an anomaly and of Japan. Viktor was Viktor and Yuuri was _this_. It wouldn't do Yuuri any good by stopping and gushing over the good deeds his idol did in his free time for now.

“Yuuri, this person will provide any necessary assortments for your safety; your cover story for the media as well as legal affiliates, residency, your provisions, what have you,” Celestino said under his breath, handing Yuuri a scrap of paper with a scribbling of some Japanese name and phone number on it. They were feigning leisure as they walked toward the elevator to get to the parking lot of the arena, barely stopping to greet the reporters and fans. Camera flashes followed them.

“And of course, he can manage for you to go back to Detroit, _if_ you ever so wish to comeback to figure skating,” he added forlornly when the elevator door closed. Good thing there were only two of them.

Yuuri slid the paper into his trousers’ pocket. Celestino had done so much for Yuuri. Yuuri hadn’t even known there had been organized underground movements all over the world to help people like him. He supposed there were still so much he didn’t know about how the ghouls operated.

“Celestino,” he said once the elevator started to descend. “Are you a ghoul?” Because there was only one explanation why his coach had been composed about all of this.

“No, I’m not.” Celestino frowned. “There’s still so much we don’t know about the beginning of ghouls’ existence, Yuuri. When I first heard about you from your parents, I was in doubt in all honesty.”

It was understandable; Yuuri wouldn’t agree and go ahead training some strange phenomenon, were he in Celestino’s shoes. “Why didn’t you report us? That’s what people usually do.”

Celestino nodded, “that might be true.” He gazed down at Yuuri, his voice held more serious tone than in any lectures Yuuri had ever gotten from him. “I didn’t report you and your family straightaway because it was the first time I was faced with such situation. You’ve got so much potential and it would be a waste to let your _food_ define your future,” he waved off any protest Yuuri was about to make at the word “food”. “The food _is_ the problem,” he added nonchalantly.

“I managed to get in contact with some ghoul activists straightaway after days scouring for information about ghouls and everything. They’re everywhere, you see—the activists. Humans and ghouls work side-by-side. I was surprised beyond belief.”

“So you agreed not to retract your offer to train me after consulting with them?”

“Now that’s very little you think of me, kid,” Celestino said, feigning offended.

“B-but you said…”

Celestino burst out laughing. “Didn’t you pay attention, Yuuri—the food _is_ the problem. I got in contact with the activists _after_ I gave your family my confirmation that I was more than happy to have you at my skating academy.”

Yuuri hung his head. This was too much. His eyes stung with tears that threatened to well up again. “Thank you, Celestino,” he managed to choke the word out.

Celestino frowned at his student hunched figure. “Not just yet. Now you get to Japan, _live_ , back to the ice, and only _then_ you may thank me.”

Yuuri’s breath hitched, sniggering quietly. “I don’t know about the chance of me skating again, Celestino. So I’m just going to thank you now.” He didn’t even know if he would survive Sochi International Airport.

The elevator door opened up then. “Life is a game; one that you must win or outsmart the one who made it this way in the first place,” Celestino said before stepping out of the elevator.

The view of the dimly lit parking lot greeted them. Yuuri followed behind Celestino quietly; entirely in the dark regarding the arrangement Celestino had managed in the last minute. Yuuri had packed his belongings as his coach had told him to. Then Celestino would ship the rest of Yuuri's belongings from Detroit after Yuuri's safety was confirmed.

Grey minivan and a figure in yellow-green heavy parka greeted them at one corner of the lot. Yuuri had only seen a ghoul in investigative programs on TV before; they usually wore a mask when they hunted to hide their identity so they could still live with their human alias. This was his first time to see one in person. The figure had what seemed like a potato sack to cover the entire head with seven hiragana characters drawn as its face; へのへのもへじ—“ _henohenomoheji”_. Children in Japan used the characters as the faces of _kakashi_ —scarecrow.

Yuuri gaped at the figure greeted them.

“Oh it’s you!” Celestino shook the person’s hand. “Yuuri, it’s him—the person whose name and contact number is on the paper I gave you.”

The person lifted his hand. _Hi_ —he seemed to say. He couldn’t speak? Yuuri imagined it might be hard to speak and _breathe_ under that sack. Yuuri gestured the same way at him.

“You don’t need to come all the way here,” said Celestino. The Scarecrow only shrugged and extended both his hands at Yuuri's direction. “Because it’s Yuuri?” The Scarecrow nodded vigorously. Celestino laughed, “well would you look at that—he’s your fan, Yuuri.”

The Scarecrow pointed a finger at Yuuri—Yuuri noted the Scarecrow only had three fingers on each hand, and had his thumbs up directed at Yuuri—the Scarecrow still had thumbs, he noted.

Yuuri smiled at him, “thank you, err…” He remembered he hadn’t even looked into the scrap of paper Celestino had given him; it would be rude to address this person as “Scarecrow” after what he’d willingly done. Feeling ashamed of himself, Yuuri scrambled at his trousers’ pocket, fishing out the paper. Yuuri read the kanji written there, “uh… t-thank you, Nagachika.”

 

*****

 

It was in the midst of April snow when Yuuri’s life took yet another sharp turn.

Breathing in hints of Spring in the air, Yuuri looked around the ruins of what was left of his childhood house. The cherry blossom tree in front of his bedroom still stood tall. _Oh_ , it appeared the quarter of which his bedroom resided was still standing. He slowly walked in, passing through the threshold barred with strings of yellow lines with _CCG – Commission of Counter Ghoul_ written on its surface.

Yuuri wouldn’t be long here. He needed to get few things from his old bedroom and perhaps other things from his parents’ and his sister’s room. Besides, Hide—his new friend had asked Yuuri to call him “Hide” instead—had told him this morning that they would have guests coming over.

 _Do you like dog?—_ Hide had put up his small whiteboard in front of Yuuri’s nose this morning.

“I had a pet poodle, if that’s what you mean by ‘like’.”

Hide had nodded vigorously at Yuuri’s answer and then tilted his head as though he had been in deep thought. Writing slowly, and then deleted whatever he’d got there on his small whiteboard with his forearm for a few times, Hide finally put up his board again, _That’s even better! Dog is one of the guests!_

Yuuri wondered if Hide really was a cheerful person as all his scribbling and exclamation mark suggested. Hide reminded him of Phichit. Smiling fondly at the board, Yuuri’d answered, “Oh that’ll be fun, I can’t wait.”

_Be back before 5, Himejima is scary at night!_

Yuuri wouldn’t even be here by 2pm, and it was barely 11am. He probably would visit Minako after this.

Or so he thought.

Because the sight before him suggested that Yuuri Katsuki had died and was in heaven—or hell? He didn’t even know anymore.

When a big poodle had assaulted him at the foyer, Yuuri had thought there had been an intruder or a homeless person tried to settle in this abandoned inn. But the poodle seemed familiar somehow, Yuuri had even mistaken the pup as his late pet. “ _V-Vicchan!”_ Another thought had barely sunk in when the poodle barked in glee. Yuuri’d rushed to his feet, searching frantically all over the house, only to be brought into the hot-spring in the far back by the sound of water splashing.

Viktor Nikiforov was soaking up in the hot-spring.

Small water droplets fell slowly from the Russian’s temple, down across his cheek, his chin, and then it slowly dropped to his sternum. Yuuri gulped.

The aquamarine orbs seemed to study the petrified Japanese man.

What was his idol doing there in the ruins of Yu-topia Akatsuki? After countless of interviews and articles about him that Yuuri had read, did he really know who Viktor really was? Yuuri had to be in disguise to get to this house again; Hide had lent him his parka and surgical mask. And Viktor was just _there_. Thousands of questions surged up on Yuuri’s mind. He racked his brain to find answer, but it seemed his brain even failed him in forming words when the Russian slowly ascended from the water.

"Yuuri," Viktor’s hand extended beckoning to him.

Yuuri tried in all his might not to gaze down below Viktor's navel—he failed. A whimper almost escaped his lips. Yuuri slapped himself mentally as the warmth of blood crept up painting his cheeks.

"As of today, I will be your guardian as well as your coach! Let's get you back to the ice and win your own game of life!" Viktor winked at him.

All Yuuri could do was scream his lungs out.

 


End file.
